I Dhulin Vorn
by AncientAssassin
Summary: An Elleth bounty hunter who has helped Men for five centuries of her life-despite her dislike of the race- is pulled into the War of the Ring. There she is forced to overcome the very things that her near three thousand years of life have moulded her into.
1. I Dhulin

"Well look here boys, an Elf that does not carry a bow."

The seven Men chuckle as they surround the cloaked figure.

"And a She-elf at that."

The elleth looks at the men with defiance flickering in her dark eyes. The brigands encircle her and she shivers in the wind, wrapping her deep grey cloak around her tighter. The Men laugh at her weakness.

"Who is this She-elf to dare wander into our camp my fellows?" one of the brigands boom.

The She-elf is looking around the circle, shivering as she does so, before she speaks her voice crisp and clear, flowing towards the brigands ears like cool water. "Which of you Men can tell me where Glarthas is?"

The Men laugh once more, and one steps forward with hunger in his eyes. He is a large creature, cords of muscle tightly bound beneath muck-covered tan skin. He is wearing iron mail under a simple, brown, slightly cracked leather cuirass. He brandishes a steel, two-handed great-sword that this elleth can see has been stained with the blood of many innocents. His hair is long, greasy, and sour smelling. A large and proud nose hides under a large scar across his face. The elleth almost wishes he had dirty whiskers to accompany the look, but his face is lined with a simple stubble. The black depths of his eyes trace the lines of her pale face and attempt to trace the outlines of her body, but her cloak hides her well.

"Why do you need to speak to Glarthas? What business do you have here at our...humble camp?" The elleth smiles, her pale, pink lips flashing into a charming shape that these Men do not resist. The sun bleeds through breaks of angry grey-black storm clouds, parts of the warm life-force covered the group with the brazen hues of the setting sun. "I have a message from the people of Archet in Bree-Land," She paused and the Man who previously stepped forward is looking at her with dark intrigue and humour in his eyes.

"I am Glarthas, what message have the poor people of Archet formed for me to receive?" he lent out his hand as though the elleth were giving him a letter. Her lips tugged upward in a smirk and looked at Glarthas' leather clad hand. He looked at her curiously while the other brigands stirred nervously. The sky was getting darker, the warm hues of the sky becoming more concentrated and slowly, though eventually fading to a deep blue. The dark storm clouds begin to swallow the sky. "The people of Archet have declared you and your...fellows to be a public menace and brigands. They have sent me to demand your immediate retreat from their lands, never to return." The boisterous laughter the ruffians give her was her answer, but she wants to hear their rejection from their leader. Once his laughter has subsided he looks at her with cold, furious eyes.

"Tell them we will not be leaving, and in fact there might just be a bit more accidents on the roadways." he smirks triumphantly. The She-elf's hands rustle beneath the wool of her cloak and she sighs, turning away to leave.

"So be it."

She moves too quickly for the Men on her sides to react, two Elven daggers have been lodged in their throats. She spins, her cloak wrapping around her tightly, and silvery blurs leave her fingertips and two more ruffians are felled. The one on her left swings his mace down as if to crush her skull but she rolls to the right, feigning an attack while another dagger snakes to the chink in his armour, slides between his ribs and drags. He shrieks in pain. She abandons her dagger in the Man and pulls free her father's curved sword, Annun. Using both hands she turns around and blocks the sword swinging towards her in a side swipe. The unusually sharp shriek of metal upon metal hurts her ears and she does not notice the shield of oak and iron bolting forward to smash into her face. It sticks true and her head is knocked backwards violently. There is a haze clouding her vision and shrill rings echoing in her ears and she is blinded, but not completely. She smells Glarthas, the stench of a man who has cared not for cleanliness for many years, he is closer than before and her vision comes back just in time to witness his steel blade rushing towards her face. She brings up and using its curve, directs some of the great-sword's blow towards the earth. Thunder rolls through the sky, but the clouds are not yet ready to birth their rain. The elleth swings her left leg under him and kicks out, the old cuirass and chain-mail bending to the form of her foot easily. He exhales a foul breath of air in her direction as he stumbles away from her. Annun is skittered on the ground to her left and she rolls to the side, pushing herself up from the earth. With Annun in hand she spins and strikes at Glarthas' chest. Her sharpened blade cuts through the leather easily. With her right hand she unsheathes her short-sword Amrûn and swipes across his chest in an X-fashion. The Elven blades cut through his chain-mail as if it were parchment. Glarthas however recovers quickly and angrily bringing in his great-sword from the side. The She-elf uses both swords to block the blow, the force of it shakes her arm violently and she jumps backwards. Her weapons did not stop his, instead they simply slowed his down and his steel cuts the earth in front of her. She springs forward and brings Annun across his chest as he tries to pull his great-sword from the ground; he yells in both pain and fury. Using the momentum from her jump she brings Amrûn around behind him and its sharp edge cuts through his hide boots and through his tendons. Glarthas collapses on the hard ground screaming.

His remaining companion however had yet to fall, so he rushes her, shield first. She simply rolls away from him and waits, crouching like a predatory animal. He charges once more, swinging his mace madly and inaccurately. Just before he passes her, she sticks her leg out to trip him. The Man tumbles forward, his chest landing on his own mace. Bleeding to death and cursing at her, she leaves him. He was not her bounty. With Elven grace, she seems to just skim the surface of the earth, a light bounce in her step, with both longsword and short sword within her gasp. Glarthas looks up at her from his blood-darkened bed of grass. A tired but angry flame in his eyes. He bears bloody teeth at her and she gives him a sad smile, "I gave you a chance to leave, but" she sighs, "I guess this is for the better. You would have just caused more havoc in another settlement." Glarthas smirks and spits blood in her face. She scrunches her nose and draws her mouth in a thin line. She sheaths Annun and wipes her face clean with her hand. After wiping the blood onto her cloak, she swipes Amrûn across his throat. A gurgling gasp escapes him as he began to laugh. Foamy blood bubbling to the corners of his mouth. The elleth scowls at the scene. She expected it to go this way, but she never wanted it to. She only likes eliminating her bounty, not everyone around him. She stands and searches through Glarthas' pockets looking for something other than the excruciatingly heavy sword of his. To no avail she finds nothing that could identify him, so she walks over to his great-sword that is still wedged into the ground. She sheaths Amrûn and grasps at the handle of the sword, the angle of it awkward in her hands. With all of her strength she pulls the weapon out from the ground and stumbles backwards, almost falling. She whispers a quick prayer of thanks to the Valar, thanking them for their protection and the gift of Elven strength. Thunder rolls once more and she wraps the blood stained blade in the cloak of one of the highwaymen.

She carries the great-sword with both hands after pulling her grey hood around her face and begins her brisk walk back to Archet. The sun had finally died and the rain begins to pour down in buckets. Her leather clad feet push into the thick mud that doesn't wish to release her easily. She pulls at her foot which the mud releases unexpectedly. The elleth stumbles and falls forward into the mud, Glarthas' sword skittering in front of her. She scrunches her face in disgust and spits out mud from her mouth. The mud is slick and her first three attempts to rise fail. She pushes herself up once more and grasps onto a nearby tree branch, her fingers finding purchase just before she loses her footing. The rain comes down impossibly harder and she groans. The elf makes her way to the great-sword and picks it up to continue her journey. Thankfully the bandits didn't make camp too far away from the town of Archet so she makes it back to the town quicker than what she expected, but later than what she would have liked. The city gates open for her after she gives her name to the gatekeeper and she walks in. As usual she received suspicious glances from the towns people. A woman in a hooded cloak with weapons was not something to be trusted, but it was better they not discover she was Elven; the people tended not to easily trust other races in Archet. So the Elf keeps her eyes away from others as she walks to Council's Hall, where she is greeted by a guard asking of her business. She reveals the great-sword in her arms, "I am here to collect the bounty on Glarthas' head."

* * *

The group of Men around a large rectangular table glance up from their discussion as the sound of heavy rain becomes crisp and the large wooden door groans open slightly. At first they would describe the figure as small, muddy, and cloaked. But as the stranger walks forward, their description changes. How they would later describe this stranger and their encounter would be mysterious and surreal. The stranger, an Elf, the Head Councilman deduced was a bounty hunter. A bounty hunter that not only gave the victims and their families peace from further danger, but also saved the lives of many guardsman they would have needed to send.

"You mean to tell me that one person, no, one woman killed the bandit leader, Glarthas and his men." The bounty hunter nods with a small, sweet smile on her face. Another of the Men stands with accusation in his eyes.

"How can we trust this woman? She walks in here, well past our public hours during our urgent meeting, with a great-sword that she proclaims to be Glarthas'!" The bounty hunter sighs and walks forward, the guards tense up but relax as she simply sets the sword on the table. Her voice clear and sweet and relaxed, "Check for yourself my lord." the Head Councilman stands and silences the other members, whilst stroking is greying beard. "I believe her. In fact so much so that I believe she could use the reward and the knowledge that she is welcome in Archet for as long as she lives."

The bounty hunter smirks into the knowing eyes of the Head Councilman. "That is an awfully long promise my lord, are you sure your fellows will not forget such a blessing?" He walks from his chair and to the edge of the table where the sword sits. He disrobes it, seeing the bloodied steel and trademark saw toothed edge. There is no doubt in his eyes.

"Well then my lady, tell us your name and show us your face so that we do not forget." Now the bounty hunter seemed taken aback, she had no problem showing her face and she was aware that he knew of her heritage, but she thinks it will simply cause more of an outrage within the council and city. Yet, if he wished it then she would comply.

"My name is Taelien of Lothlórien"

She pulls pack her hood, revealing dark brown hair in a wavy, muddy, and damp tail. She has pale skin, but it is of a darker shade than most Elves the Head Councilman has seen, it appears closer to the colour of Men. Her eyes, like most Elves, were the most striking feature. Her eyes were of a dark green hue, like the colour of the trees after a good rain. They were full of an enchanting mischief and promises that the councilmen could not decipher. The Council tenses at the sight of her, she was not even attempting to hide the pointed tips of her ears. One of the two members that spoke out against her before explode. "I refuse to give this...this Elf my blessings to enter Archet whenever she may please!"

"Elleth."

"What?"

"Elf is male, Elleth is female. I would prefer that or my name if you are going to speak of me."

The Councillor's neck turns a bright shade of red and Taelien closes her mouth quickly. The Head Councilman intervenes and states that she is to receive her gold and that the gatekeeper can let her in at any time. But she stops them after being handed a heavy coinpurse, "Where do the victims families live? I would like to deliver something to them." The red necked councillor calms down, though he is startled, and tells her where the families live.

With that information in her mind and the coinpurse in hand the Elleth bids a respectful farewell and leaves the chambers. She lets the heavy door close slowly behind her. The guard outside stands still and solitary despite the early cold rain. It is still raining heavily, though she could actually see her hand in front of her now. She walks along the streets filled with mud, crushed stone, and straw heading towards one of the small shacks at the end of the lane. The late summer leaves rustle in the wind and dance before her pitifully, weighed down by the rain. Her hood is up, hiding her ears once more as she counts out her coin.

Ten gold...

Twenty silver...

Fifty coppers...

Te metal clinks into another small purse, just in time to reach her first home. She raps a knuckle across the rotting door and waits for the shuffling sound of the inhabitant before dropping the purse on the porch loud enough for the man to hear and dashes into the night. She repeats this process until she has nothing but twenty coppers left for her own use.

Then she leaves.

Taelien of Lothlórien, the stranger, the Elven bounty hunter, leaves the town of Archet as quickly as she had come. She leaves to travel, listen to the troubles of Man, and help when she is able. It is when she comes across a small inn some many nights and days later that she hears the bar chatter and rumours speaking of a great evil rising in the East. It is Autumn in the small town of Bree when she hears the rumours of the Black Riders return, screeching in the night, searching for their master's One Ring.


	2. I Dúnadain

_**A/N: Holy crow thank you for the follows and favourites and reviews! All I can do is say thank you, ask that you enjoy the story, and please please PLEASE continue reviewing and supporting! There is Elvish in this chapter and I tried to incorporate the translations into the paragraphs after it. However, I am including all of the translations at the end of the chapter in case I did not do as well as I hoped. Enjoy! Let me know if you approve, disapprove, are neutral, etc. AND/OR if you speak Sindarin, let me know how I'm doing! I'm a beginner myself. I do not own any of Tolkien's work, if I did I wouldn't be writing fan fiction.**_

* * *

The wind screams as Taelien enters the Prancing Pony. It was time to look for work. Her coinpurse was lighter than she wished and she was running out of her cheaply made Lembas. She had been travelling, hearing of dark whispers and tidings. She was frightened, yes, but she was also determined to ward off these whispers from the less fortunate by ridding them of local brigands. She may not like the race of Man, but she had made a promise that she intends to keep. Yet, as if the Valar were testing her, a large and very round drunkard is pushed into her, making her squeak in an attempt to twist away. She did not make it. Glasses spill and crack, a bowl of steaming stew splashes over her and the large Man smashes her into the bar.

Her temper flared, "Watch where you walk you unintelligible swine!"

Valar, she had been around Men so long she actually had a temper. The Man turns, his bottom lip hanging open, beer dripping out onto his tunic and mixing with something that looks suspiciously of vomit. She stares at him, lip curling with disgust, he stares at her with vacant eyes that blossom with an emotion she cannot discern from anger or arousal. Now she feels like vomiting. Before he makes a move to trap her she feels a gloved hand grip her wrist and pull. She is yanked away quickly, up the stairs and away from the drunkard.

The rest of the tavern did not notice her anger.

"I've never seen an Elleth with such a temper." a curious and soothing voice states. She is pulled into a side room that overlooks the street and a Man stands before her dressed in dark green and leather. A sword hangs off his belt and she notices his hood is up as well.

"How did you-"

"I have lived among the _Eldar_ for most of my life. I can tell when one walks into a tavern of Men."

Taelien is shocked. She must be getting too confident and sloppy in her deceptions. Two men in the last three months had recognized her heritage when she did not wish them to. She wiggled her wrist away from his grip and pulls down her hood. She is suspicious of this man, a Ranger of the North she now realizes. His eyes hold knowledge beyond his apparent age, much like the elves.

"_Pedol Edhellen_?"

"_Thand_."

She sucks in a breath. Who is this Man, this Ranger, who thinks himself able to live among the _eldar_ and speak their tongue?

"I _Dúnadain_?"

"_Thand. I eneth nîn Aragorn_."

Aragorn, she knows this name. Lord Elrond spoke of him in her last visit to Imladris. He is the heir to Gondor. Her jaw almost drops. She spent many years in Gondor and she knows of the strife within the kingdom. Yet, she wants to make sure it is really the heir. Lord Elrond said the heir came to live in Imladris with his family.

"_Mas dorthong_?"

He smirks, and Taelien can see the shadow of stubble across his jaw.

"_Telin o Imladris_."

If Taelien cared more for Gondorians she would have leapt for joy. Minas Tirith finally had its king! Yet she did not care for Gondorians. They were the most distrustful of all the Men she has seen and met in her travels. She likes Gondorians the least. They were arrogant and stubborn, unwilling to change or accept others. They reminded her too much of the Elves, though the Gondorians held all the wrong qualities. She begins her nervous habit of pacing. The Ring Wraiths. The return of Sauron. The search for the One Ring. The heir to Gondor. All of these things happening at once after so many years of relative peace gives her a nasty feeling in her stomach.

"_Aníratham limma an Imladris, anírathar ista._"

Aragorn looks at her and raises an eyebrow, of course they would need to travel to Imladris, of course Elrond and his court would want to know. She does not know of the Hobbits. She does not know that the One Ring has been found.

"_Aníratham an darth an tâd periain._"

Hobbits? Why would they need to wait for two Hobbits? Then it hits her. These halflings must have it. The One Ring. She looks at Aragorn sharply, surprise gracing her features. She suddenly feels physically older. Tiny, young, innocent halflings are tasked with such a burden. she sighs, and looks at him, letting the Westron roll off her tongue. "Do you know when they will be here, Ranger? I have heard many dark whispers of the Nine Black Riders; they are searching."

Aragorn looks as though a weight has been placed on him as well and the room feels somehow colder, heavier.

"Soon. That is all I know."

Taelien sighs again, she may not be paid for such a task but her nature as a bounty hunter must be contained and her Elven ways seemed to obligate her to help in any way she could. She still paces in the room and Aragorn stands still, eyes watching her from the center of the room. She abruptly spins on her heel and walks towards the window, watching the street below. The sun is setting on a clear sky, orange and salmon hues blending into navy. The moon is a sliver of growing light in the Eastern sky. Her green eyes meet Aragorn's brown ones before they shift back to the sunset. "Then I guess I will rent a room here."

Aragorn turns and walks over to her as she stands by the window, eyes ever watching. "I never asked you to stay, nor should you feel the need that requires you to stay. This is not something you have been tasked to do."

She looks at him smirking and bows her head, "_I eneth nîn Taelien ned Lothlórien._"

Aragorn smiles, but it does not reach his worried eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you Taelien."

Taelien smiles once more and walks out of the room. The sun has set and her promise of help is final. She walks down the old wood stairs and back down to the bar where she orders bread, cheese, some mead, and a room. The innkeeper takes the last of her coppers and tells her where her room is before bringing out her food. The Prancing Pony seems impossibly busier and she begins to feel as though she can only breath sweat, dirt, alcohol, and vomit. The fat man who pushed her lays unconscious on a table near what she presumes are his friends and she curls her lip in a sneer. A Man looks up from the fat one's table and spies her staring. He looks at her, eyes growing wide, her hood is still down. Taelien closes her eyes in an attempt to calm herself, as the Man stands and makes his way towards the bar. She mumbles and curses under her breath in Elvish. He is right in front of her, drunk but not incompetent at the moment. "I knew you fer a freak. Ears like...knives, not natural, not right. You hurt good ole Vignar's feelings. He was right though, you are pretty one and methinks I need to tame your tongue after what you said to him."

Taelien's eyes grow wide, she was not expecting him to say _that_. He could not be insinuating trying that right here, in the common room could he? It was far too crowded for her to use A_nnun_ and _Amrûn_, and while she did not mind harming this Man, she had promised to protect as much life as possible, which unfortunately included the race of Man. A gloved hand snakes between her and this defiler and pushes the Man back.

"Leave her alone."

The drunk stumbles backwards and takes one look at the one who helped her and stammer out,"S-sorry Strider, I-I was j-just—"

Strider cuts him off, "You do not want to touch her. In case you did not realize, she is armed and as an Elf she knows how to use her weapons."

The man looks at her once more but in a different light and he focuses on the hilt of Annun peaking from the left side of her cloak. He nods and scampers back to his fat friend. Taelien looks to Strider in thanks to see Aragorn's hooded, mischievous features. Her eyes widen in surprise and questions. The ranger grabs her food and bottle of mead and leads her to a table near the stairs with a full view of the common room. Taelien sits with her back to the room while Aragorn sits back, watching whilst stuffing a pipe with tobacco after setting her things on the worn wood. Taelien breaks apart her bread and takes a bite. It is tough, with a decent flavour, though she has tasted and made better. The cheese is...aged but she is no stranger to rotting food. Strider watches her after lighting his pipe. It is not until she uncorks her bottle of mead that she realize all her food was gone. The Elleth flushes pink, she is not used to eating in front of anyone she is acquainted with. Keeping her mead in hand, she rises from the table and mumbles some pathetic excuse to make way to her room, tripping over the man's boot as she did so. Aragorn chuckles and turns, watching her leave before returning his eyes to the common room.

Taelien rushes up the stairs, spilling the mead on her leather armour. She feels her face burning even more as she walks into the rented room. She sits down on the straw filled mattress and looks at the bottle of liquid in her hands. The amber liquid swirls in the glass, spilled but untasted. She sets it down on the night stand, near the burning candle. She wants to drink, but only for the taste. She would not be able to become inebriated even if she wished to, and for the second time in her almost three thousand year lifespan, she wanted to.

Though she did not know why.

Could it be the return of the One Ring and Sauron? Could it be the fat drunkard's friend? Or was it the return of the Heir to Gondor? The answer, Taelien did not know, perchance it was a mixture off everything. No matter the answer, Taelien decided that it was time for her to rest. So she blows out the candle and takes a rare sleep.

* * *

It is still dark when she awakens, as it usually is when those of the _eldar_ decide to sleep. She lays in the bed, and after a while and feels much better than she did before. After swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress, the Elleth stretches. First her toes and feet, next her legs, then her abdomen and back, and finally her arms and neck. She pushes off the bed and grasps at the full bottle of mead, takes a sip, and coughs. The drink is old and the night air had made it stale. She looks around, she must have been exhausted. Her weapons are still slung on her hips, cloak still clasped at her neck, boots still laced on her feet. She at least had the good sense to sling her travelling pack off by the door. Walking over to the pack reminds her of her promise, she did not forget of course but the weight of her decision comes to the forefront of her mind. She searches through the worn, brown, leather pack and finds some leftover Lembas she made a few weeks ago. She considers taking a bite but thinks better of it, it is travelling bread and the Valar know she will be travelling soon. She fetches out a tunic, leggings and another set of used but strong boiled leather greaves, spaulders, breastplate, and bracers. After dressing herself she pulls out a book she had long since finished and begins to read. A few hours later the sun begins to rise, breathing life into the Prancing Pony and the town of Bree. Taelien walks downstairs, cloak on and hood up, and orders a plate of bread, fruit, and cheese. She returns to the table she shared with Aragorn the night before and begins to eat whilst watching the door. She is taking a bite from a strawberry when the ranger walks down the stairs to sit with her. She gives a nod and continues to eat her breakfast.

They watch the door.

For five days they watch the door and Taelien's rent is up, her coin has run out and she is tired of waiting.

Taelien leans back with a small half of bread and pops it into her mouth. The sky had grown dark near the middle of the day and Taelien can sense the rain about to come. She rises from the perch they have taken up and walks to the bar for a bottle of mead. She waits as the barkeep attends to four children who seem to have lost their way. To her the room seems suddenly heavier and darker though she cannot understand why. The Man hands her the drink with a sigh and shake of his head. The common room is as packed as the night she had met Aragorn and she walks back to the table after pushing her way through the Men, fighting her temper. Aragorn seems focused and she follows his gaze to the four children. The Elleth freezes, those were no children.

They were Hobbits, they were here, and the wait was over.

* * *

_**Elvish translations:**_

_**"Pedol Edhellen?" : **_**[Do] You speak Elvish?****  
**

_**"Thand": **_**Yes/ True**

_**"Le **__Dúnadain_?": **You are a Ranger?**

_**"Thand. I eneth nin Aragorn": **_**Yes. I am called Aragorn.**

**_"Mas dorthong?": _Where do you live/ come from?  
**

**_"Telin o Imladris.": _I come from Imladris.  
**

_**"Aniratham limma an Imladris, anirathat ista.": **_**We will want to travel to Imladris, they will want to know.**

_**"Aniratham an darth an tad periain.": **_**We need to wait for two halflings.**

_**"I eneth nin Taelien ned Lothlorien.": **_**I am called Taelien of Lothlorien.**

_**A/N: Thank you for being patient and feel free to PM me or drop a review! :)**_

_**~AA**_


	3. I Beriain

_**A/N: I'm very, very, VERY sorry for my lack of updates recently. Please accept this chapter as the beginning of my apologies. I'm trying out different ways of showing the Sindarin, so this chapter will have a glossary in the beginning rather than at the end or within the story itself. Please enjoy and review!**_

* * *

_**Mas ledhiam**: _Where are we going?

___**Aníratham deri ned cened adh garim i athrad vîn an i adab am i ven. Na minuial carim i athrad vîn an Imladris**: _We will want to stay out of sight and make our way to the building/inn up the road. At dawn we make our way to Imladris.

_____**Aníratham rinc si**: _We need/will want to leave now.

_____****__Aphado nîn_.: Follow me.

_______**Be iest lín**: _As you wish.

_**Man**_: what?

* * *

Taelien looks at Aragorn sharply, "_Four_ haflings? I thought you said there was just two?!"

"I thought there were just two!"

The Elleth suppresses a groan as she looks back towards the little group of hobbits. One is trying to make his way back to the table with a pint. If the situation were not so serious she would have laughed at the sight, though her laugh would be drowned in the noise of the tavern. Aragorn nudges her boot with his foot, telling her to sit down. He looks at her, brown eyes lighting up as he takes a drag from his pipe. "We must watch them, separately. I will stay here and you go to the corner on their other side." Taelien takes a sip of her mead, the honey drink bitter-sweet on her tongue. She nods at Aragorn's instructions and turns to leave, but he stops her once more.

"Call me Strider from now on, until the halflings know my name. I should have told you to do so when first we met, but now it matters more dearly."

Taelien nods and quickly makes her way to the corner Strider indicated, watching the group carefully. The hobbit managed to make it back to the table with naught but a drop spilled on his travelling cloak. Taelien was impressed with the little halfling's dexterity. The one he sits next to stares, eyes widening at the massive amount of alcohol his friend held. They exchange their excitement to each other and Taelien can make out the word, 'pint'. After a few heartbeats the young halfling in awe leaps out of his chair and begins to try and push his way onto a crowded barstool. The heavy set hobbit with a mess of gold hair chuckles and turns to his friend, a darker haired fellow with a very curly mop. When the gold haired one turns back to watch his friend his blue eyes flash with suspicion and fear; they have dashed over to Strider, who is playing the part of the ominous fiend. The dark haired one tugs at the barkeep's apron and nods towards Strider. Asking something about the Man. The heavyset barkeeper, Butterbur, looks over and leans forward. He mumbles something to the Hobbits that Taelien does not care to listen to. Something that causes all three heads to snap towards Strider's corner. The barkeep walks off with his delivery of refreshments and the little halflings heads congeal together in discussion. Taelien looks to Strider who is as stoic as ever and rolls her head. Green eyes flash to a commotion the other halfling is making at the bar, he turns back in what what Taelien assumes is a buzzed state and cries out,

"Sure, I know a Baggins!"

The dark-curly haired hobbit leaps out of his chair, the wood clattering to the ground and causing a stir through the crowd. The halfling dashes towards the bar and out of the corner of her eye Taelien notices Strider lean forward, taking the pipe away from his teeth. The elleth tenses up and sits at the edge of her chair. Her eyes return to the scene to find a wall of Men that erupts in a sudden gasp and sudden silence. Taelien feels a dark pressure explode around her and she gasps quietly. The pressure is sinister and painful and she wants it gone.

Strider moves. The ranger pushes his way through the crowd quickly, making his way around and toward the hobbit table. He grasps at something that is quaking under it and pulls, revealing the hobbit who must be Baggins. Taelien is standing now and she races after the two up the stairway and towards Strider's room in a flurry of cloaks. The elleth shuts the door behind her and walks forward, not quite knowing what to do. Strider throws the hobbit towards the window and stares.

"A little more caution from you...that is no trinket you carry."

The hobbit tenses, "I carry nothing."

Taelien steps from the shadows, "Is that so? I can disappear if I wish, but to vanish entirely is..."

Strider cuts in, interrupting, "...a rare gift." He continues his mission of extinguishing the flames of the candles and Taelien circles the little hobbit asking him if he is afraid, to which he answers 'yes'. There is movement behind the door and the elleth's head snaps towards the door as it bursts open. _Amrûn_ is in her right hand in an instant, raised semi-awkwardly above the hobbit's head. The door crashes open and Strider's blade is in his hand instantly. The elleth smiles, hand dropping _Amrûn_ to her side. The three other habbits stand in the threshold; one brandishes a chair, another a candlestick, and the last tries to hold his fists up threateningly.

"Let him go or I'll have you, Longshanks!"

Taelien sheaths the short sword as Strider sheaths his own weapon, "You have a stout heart, little Hobbit, but that alone will not save you." Taelien walks over to the hobbits and urges them in, closing and bolting the door afterwards.

Strider observes the group of halflings and pulls back his hood. Taelien moves away from the door an looks at Strider, "_Mas ledhiam_?" the hobbits look up at her quickly as she pulls down her hood, fluffing out her rain-frizzed curls.

"_Aníratham deri ned cened adh garim i athrad vîn an i adab am i ven. Na minuial carim i athrad vîn an Imladris_."

She sees the golden-haired halfling staring at her out of the corner of her eye. His mouth is slightly agape and his blue eyes are tracing the outline of her slightly tanned ear. She smirks and turns towards him, scrunching her nose, "What is wrong little hobbit? Have you never met an Elleth before?" she knows his answer of course. The hobbits of the Shire are notorious isolationist. Despite the younger hobbits fascination with and respect for those of the Eldhir, Taelien always traveled on the edges of the Shire and only during the night. She had no interest in answering questions, and she still does not. Though the admiration in the blue eyes seem to soften her heart to the idea.

"I've never seen an Elf warrior up close before. Master Frodo and I stayed with a group of Elves during part of out journey." Taelien's eyebrows shoot up into her bangs, has the halfling culture changed since last she saw them? She then suppresses a groan of frustration at his use of _elf_ rather than _ellet_.r All respect the difference between man and woman, but does no one respect elf and elleth? Aragorn looks at her sharply, cutting off her retort. "_Aníratham rinc si_." she nods and looks at the hobbits and smiles, hopefully encouraging them.

"Collect your things little ones, it is time to leave."

The four hobbits nod and she unbolts the door, leaving for her room down the hall. As she walks into the door she feels a heavy weight settle on her shoulders and she fights the sudden urge to go back to the four young halflings. She stops in the threshold of her room as her mind wanders back to the four hobbits, an urge to protect them at any costs rips from her chest. Taelien shakes her head quickly and grabs her travelling pack on her left, not noticing the open pocket. An old journal tumbles out, bound shut by a leather strap Taelien stares at the green-dyed book. A knot-work tree is pressed into the boiled leather. It is the journal she kept when she first became a bounty hunter. It was a frivolous habit to be sure, and she just stopped...caring. Her fingers wrap around it as she softly picks it up. She may have stopped caring about archiving her adventures, but that did not mean she was not fond of the little journal. The journal sits in her hand, wishing to be reread and filled. She fingers the small twist that wraps the leather cord around the book, but refrains from opening it. She does not wish to relive those memories just yet. She quickly shoves the book back into her pack and latches it closed. She tosses the bag over to the bed and walks to the small lantern that sits on the bedside table. She grabs the small metal and glass lantern, unlatches the door, blows out the candle and ties it to her bag after the wax cools.

She slings her bag onto her back and leaves the room, walking down the hall towards Strider's room where the halflings waited. She pulls her unruly earthy hair into a quick braid and allows it to drop between her shoulder blades before pulling up her hood to hide her ears. She catches the blonde one staring once more and she sends an annoyed puff of air towards her bangs. She watches as Strider picks up his bag and looks at the hobbits,

"You did as I asked?".

The heavy set hobbit speaks up rather than Baggins, "Yes sir, the beds are all made and ready." Strider nods and looks to the bounty hunter,

"_Aphado nîn_."

She follows him out of the room after looking at the hobbits once more, "Wait a few moments after we leave and then slip away quickly. The other inn is up the street on the right side."

Before she sees them nod she stands up from her crouch and turns, exiting the room quickly. Her dark leather clad hand skims the old wooden wall of the Prancing Pony as she descends the stairs. Strider was sitting back in his corner and he touches the she-elf's elbow, stopping her before she sat down.

"Go to the meeting place and rent two rooms, do not look back to see if me or the halflings are following." he hands her a small pouch of coins, "This is enough for a room for the hobbits and I to share and one for you."

She opens her mouth in protest, Taelien does not accept charity lightly, but he stops her, "I know you have run out of coin and if you so desire pay me back when you do get the coin."

She frowns, brow furrowing beneath her bangs, forcing "_Be iest lín_" through her teeth. She did not wish to owe a Man coin. She takes the pouch and walks away out the door before the crowd even notices the exchange. She let's the old door close shut behind her via a gust of wind. Her grey cloak billows open, briefly allowing her weapons to reflect the lantern light. The rain has stopped and she sighs. She closes her cloak quickly and dashes across the street towards cover. A few shrieks erupt from the dark forest around the town. The few people who still are walking around stop and look into the night, many rush faster to their destination and others return to their business. Taelien stops and looks into the tree tops, a heavy darkness presses around her once more. Another shriek, this one higher and more painful than the last. She shivers and pushes her way into the hostel.

She walks up to the innkeeper and asks for a room with hobbit beds, the woman looks at her up and down whilst raising an eyebrow. She consents however, giving her price, when Taelien pulls out the small purse. The elleth follows the woman up the stairway and into the room. She thanks the woman tersely and lets her bag drop to the floor near the window. She unclasps her cloak and frees herself from it's grasp, when the four hobbits walk in. She turns, leather armour creaking and watches them shut the door, while she folds her cloak.

"C'mon Mister Frodo, you look like you need yer rest." the chubby golden-haired halfling said as he laid a hand on Bagins' shoulder.

"I think you're right Sam. I have never been so tired in all my life."

Taelien looks out the window and watches Strider cross the street quickly. She hears him open and shut the door downstairs and asks the innkeeper about the hobbit room. This tavern isn't as busy as the Prancing Pony, and the bounty hunter can see why. The walls were dark, rotting in some places. She is thankful however for the soft murmur of the patrons, she can hear almost everything so she no longer feels like a mortal who is losing her hearing. Ear ears twitch ever-so-slightly at Strider's boots stomping up the wooden staircase. She sits on the windowsill and looks out over the street. There is another screech, sharper, louder, indubitably _closer_ than its predecessors. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the halflings pause, looking up from preparing themselves for rest. A shiver goes through all four of them. Frodo leans against a bed post after removing his green cloak, but refrains from removing his coat. He eyes the elleth suspiciously, fingers ghosting across a pocket sewn into his vest. Taelien doesn't hate the hobbits, quite the contrary, she loves the little race. She loves their love of the earth, growth and life, and _food_. She shares their love of food the most, something that her sister, Adeleh, found infinitely humorous. Her brother Galendor would just smirk or snort and return to the studies their father had tasked them with...

Taelien shakes her head slightly, as if the movement would physically remove the memories from her mind. She looks as Strider walks in softly. He looks down at the sitting elleth and watches for a brief moment. She pulls out a small throwing knife from the side of her boot and behind cleaning her nails. Strider snorts and she looks up, "_M__an_?" Strider is about to retort with a simple smirk and 'nothing's wrong' when he hears a crash. He turns to find three hobbits fast asleep and one staring at the window.

Taelien bites back a hiss as a blackness closes in around her. Strider runs to the window as she grips the hem of her tunic tightly.

The Nazgûl were here.


	4. I Lend an Imladris

**A/N: I am ALIVE and dreadfully sorry for that hiatus (death in the family, loss of my muse (writer's block), etc.), but I'm back to post another chapter! I hope you all enjoy it! I cannot guarantee when the next update will be as I've been very busy with preparing for college but I haven't given up on the story! (I have a few chapters in the works but translating everything into *hopefully* proper Sindarin is very tedious, and since I started with Elvish I'm not giving up on it! Don't worry though, later on there won't be as much since Taelien does not stay in Imladris forever.)**

**Translations:**

**_Nan Belain_****: By the Valar**

**_Boe enni dulu_****: I need help!**

**_Man minai said govannenim im min, Taelien:_**** What strange/unique places we find ourselves, Taelien**

**_Gerich thû sui orch_****: You smell like an orc.**

**_Sen roch boea na mil_****: This horse needs attention.**

**_Dewnin reni manen elvennui ci levain; I roch han thia cin melo: _****I forgot how wonderful you are with animals; that horse just loves you.**

**_Mas evenn? ú Lothlórien egor Imladris: Where did you go? Not Lothlorien or Imladris._**

**_Sa narn an lû athan i lû hen, Dhalnir: _****That is a tale for another time.**

**_Saig cenin: _****Hungry I see.**

**_Baw: _****No**

* * *

Taelien leans over the two hobbits as they sleep in the Man-sized bed at the inn. Both had gold curly locks that shine in the dying light. These were the two that were discussing pints, Merry and Pippin she remembers, but it no longer mattered what their names were. She takes the tip of her dagger to both throats in an instant. Red blood bubbles from their throats like a morbid fountain, coloring the sheets red. Strider is unconscious after her hit on the pressure point of his jaw, and Sam lies smothered in his sleep. Frodo is not yet awake as the bounty hunter creeps over to him. Her gloved hand caresses his cheek softly before she slices his neck open, his lifeblood flowing into the bed. She reaches into his vest pocket, fingers brushing over the One Ring. Her fingers grasp at the small metal and she fishes it out. She smiles as the light catches on the gold. Her mind is filled with visions of avenging her father, earning forgiveness from her family, leaving the race of Man forever. She gives the first genuine smile in five hundred years and slips the ring onto her finger...

Taelien awakens from her sleep with a gasp, bolting up from her perch on a tree.

"_Nan Belain!_"

She rubs the heel of her hand into her eye and yawns; the moon is still high in the sky and waning. The horse that Aragorn loaned to her knickers restlessly, sensing either that Taelien is awake or that something is near. She folds her blanket and is about to send it to the ground when she hears a snap. She freezes and the horse paws at the ground nervously, straining against the elleth's bindings. Taelien sets the rolled up blanket down on the tree branch and grasps onto the thick branch to her left. She pulls herself up and leaps, pushing herself off the branch and towards another one. The momentum keeps her going as she leaps again, this time grasping onto a branch above her and swings upwards. Once she steadies herself she moves out towards the edge of the branch and looks out, she sees nothing. Yet the prickling at the back of her neck wouldn't go away. She walks back towards the trunk of the tree and is about to drop to a lower branch when she hears a twig snap and a grunt. She looks down at the ground and the mare pulls harder at the rope. Taelien hears the sound of mail and metal grating against metal coming from the south. She spins on her branch and is about to climb higher when she looks down at her blades. _Annun_ and _Amrûn_ are relinquishing a soft blue light. She curses.

Taelien drops down lightly from her perch and makes her way down to the forest floor, grabbing her blanket on the way. She drops down deftly on the ground and unties the knot of the leash holding Aragorn's horse. She pulls herself into the saddle after tying the blanket to her pack and is grateful she did not make full camp. The orcs are near, but thankfully they are not too close. She gallops away quickly, grateful that the trees are sparse. The waxing crescent moon lights the night softly as the horse speeds towards Imladris. She is still four days from Rivendell, but something spurs her on. Something is making her spur the horse faster. She wants to cut the remaining time in half. So she softly whispers a sorry to the horse in Elvish and continues riding hard.

She stops for a brief moment near dawn and allows the mare to rest. She removes the saddle and packs to let the horse cool down sweat coats its hair and she walks to the stream to drink. Downstream, Taelien soaks the blanket to cool it off for the horse and wash off the hair. She has never been fond of horses, nor they of her and this time is no different. The mare follows her instructions due to her training and breeding, but with the occasional stubbornness and annoyed snort, the elleth knows of the animal's true feelings towards her. Despite this animosity she still steps slowly towards the horse with a brush in hand. The mare looks up from the stream, ears twitching and tail swishing. Her boots squish into the mud and the horse looks at her, its eyes narrowing at the elleth's step. The mare neighs and twists to bite at Taelien's hand holding the brush. The bounty hunter is so surprised she stumbles back, slipping in the mud and falling on her bottom. She sends a look of loathing towards the horse who seems to be making a sound akin to laughter. She blows away curls that had fallen into her eyes as she stands up, only to slip once more She tosses the brush towards the saddle near an oak tree and wipes her leggings off. Mumbling to herself in Sindarin, she takes the damp blanket from the tree branch it hangs from. She walks towards the mare slowly once more and haphazardly tosses the blanket towards the animal, something she did not succeed in. The blanket falls into the mud and she can swear the horse was snickering at her. Taelien groans and picks up the blanket, brushing as much mud away as she can. This time she walks closer and puts the blanket on the animal's back. She walks to the saddle and manages to secure it to the creature. She climbs onto the horse reluctantly after attaching the packs to the saddle; and she rides towards the east.

The sun is setting on the day before she reaches Rivendell. She is on the edge of Elven territory, still in danger of running into whargs and orcs, but just working range of Elven help. The mare slows, waiting for a stream to drink from. Taelien's thighs are aching from hitting the saddle and she is filthy. She has not given herself leave to relax, but she brings herself not to care, the stakes are too dire for her to travel comfortably.

The Elves need to find Aragorn and his group of Hobbits as quickly as possible. Mare and rider are still searching for water when they hear a high pitched whine coupled with a cold howl. The mare perks up instantly, forgetting about the water. Taelien's head whips in the direction of the sound. Orcs are riding towards her at a sickening speed. She yanks the reins to the left, the horse complies and stumbles away, fear overwhelming it. Taelien is losing control of the animal and the orcs are getting closer. The elleth can see the swords on her hips glowing a bright, vibrant blue and she hears more howls. She slaps the reins down, trying to make the animal gallop faster, but the mare is exhausted and resists the elleth's commands despite the whargs. The whargs are gaining on her and she can hear the whistling of arrows as they fly past her. One skims across the side of her leg, thankfully not cutting through the hard leather she had thankfully put on during one of her previous rests. Those arrows are coated in poison and rust, a fatal combination to be sure.

She hears the scratchy screeching erupt from the orcs' mouths as they descend upon her and the mare. Taelien pulls out Amrûn and Annun while trying to keep balance on Aragorn's horse. One wharg leaps forward and the bounty hunter urges the mare to dodge. The wharg misses and Taelien slices at the rider, hot black blood spraying on her as it's throat opens to her. She turns to face the next orc when it stops suddenly. She can see an arrowhead pushing through the soft, armour-less skin of its throat. Surprised, she looks behind the creature to find a small group of elven scouts riding towards her and the squad of orcs. She grins happily and urges the mare to move around. She sheaths Amrûn and Annun and begins to pulls out several throwing knives from various places on her person, namely her belt and boots.

"_Boe enni dulu!_" she shouts to the elves, and immediately two break off from formation to come to her aid.

A knife she throws sticks into the eye of an archer and it topples off its wharg. One of the two riders, Dhalnir, unsheathes his sword and begins to hack away at the orcs that have surrounded her. The other, Húral, is raining arrows on the squad. Taelien is throwing her knives quickly and deadly into the throats, eyes, and heads of the vile creatures. Within minutes the entire squad is dead, and both Taelien and Dhalnir are covered in black blood. The other elves look over to their comrades, Dhalnir nods to them and they turn away back to Imladris.

Dhalnir looks to the elleth and snickers, "_Man minai said govannenim im mîn il, Taelien._"

The elleth gasps; she could barely recognize her friend. "_Dhalnir?!_", she quickly jumps down from Aragorn's mare and dashes over to the elf as he is dismounting. He laughs, picks her up in his arms and squeezes her tight and spins slightly from her momentum.

She gently pinches his cheek and coos, "_Gerich thû sui orch..._" he laughs and drops her back onto the ground, tugging some of the dark curls that fell out of her braid during the attack. She smacks his hand away playfully and walks off to pull her knives from the orcs' bodies. She pauses and watches Húral take the saddle off of Aragorn's mare to let her cool down. She whinnies approvingly at Húral as he pets her.

He looks towards the bounty hunter, "Sen roch boea na mil."

The mare, seemingly nods and flicks her tail in Taelien's direction angrily. The blonde archer chuckles and asks the horse if she even tried to take care of the animal. The mare nips softly at his gloved hand as the archer gently and properly re-saddles the creature and gives her a piece of carrot from the pack on his hip. Dhalnir walks towards Taelien and leans against a tree, watching her have trouble with a certain knife lodged into an orc's skull.

"_Dewnin reni manen elvennui ci levain; I roch han thia cin melo._"

Taelien sticks her tongue out at the dark haired elf and yanks the throwing blade from the orc's skull.

Taelien moves onto the next orc, pulling out the blade. Dhalnir walks up behind the elleth and pokes her sides with his index fingers, startling her.

**"**_Mas evenn? ú Lothlórien egor Imladris._"

Taelien's grin falters and her dark eyes grow darker, filling with ice, "_Sa narn an lû athan i lû hen, Dhalnir._"

The elf is taken aback by her abrupt change in mood and catalogues the topic for later discussion. She looks at him sharply and walks over to Aragorn's mare and attempts to pet it to subtly grab the reins. Húral chuckles as the mare moves out of Taelien's way. The elleth glares at the animal and attempts to grab the reins.

The horse moves again.

Húral openly laughs and she tries to avoid glaring at the hunter, she does not know this elf and she does not wish to be rude, but she will be damned if an animal will get the better of her. She tries to capture the reins a third time and the mare trots away behind Húral. Taelien groans in frustration and stalks away towards the elven boundary. She hears Dhalnir and Húral call out to her, warning her of more orcs and whargs and of the distance from Imladris she still must trek.

* * *

It is forty minutes later when she realizes how hungry and tired she is. Her stomach growls expectantly and she pulls out an apple from one of her side bags. She chews the first bite quickly and desperately wishes for _lembas. _She hears the patter of many hooves coming from behind her and she whips around, pulling out Annun with her free hand. She spots Húral with Argorn's horse trailing behind his, guided loosely by a long rope. Dhalnir is riding in front with a smirk on his face as he takes in Taelien's dishevelled appearance. Her hair is limp and loose in a makeshift braid, clothing muddied and askew, armour scuffed and no longer tied tightly, sword in hand, and finally the bittten apple with browning flesh. He chuckles at her and she sighs, sheathing annun.

"_Saig cenin._"

The bounty hunter snorts as he dismounts,

_"Baw..."_

Her stomach growls forcefully.

The elves laugh together as her anger melts away.


	5. Sîdh mi Imladris

_**A/N: I really appreciate all of you guys very much and thank you for your patience! As always I try to update as often as possible to the best quality I can give. So please drop me a review and let me know what you think. As always I do not own any of Tolkien's work, but I do own my original characters. Enjoy the chapter!**_

* * *

"_Gwesto anin nathog barn, gwesto anin gohenithog din a athathog din mi lui baur. Ti neth a 'wistar, dan bow sevir i athad vîn."_

The elf looks at his daughter, tears streak down her face. He is so sorry that she is witness to this attack. The arrows still protrude from his chest, but the bandits are gone and his daughter is safe; that is all he is thankful for now. His eyes dash around his daughter's face, memorising every detail he can in his last few moments. He begins to cough, dark blood splattering his child's face. Her flinch is clear to him and he just whispers his apologies as he weakly strokes her damp hair. She grips his hand tightly, and he is grateful for the pressure.

The sobs come quickly as she whispers, "_Ada...baw._."

Taelien shakes her head and returns her attention the the fields. They are almost to Imladris, having crossed the Elven border hours ago. The moon is high in the sky and casts a silver light on her and her fellows. Dhalnir looks to his right from the corner of his eye, watching Taelien with interest. Her hair is down from her braid, the brown strands are in a messy, windblown heap. Her shoulders are slumping ever-so-slightly from her long and tiresome journey. She wears a light leather curaiss with a very dirty green tunic underneath the leather, and her leggings are caked in dry, cracking mud. The leather boots that she adorns are shaped to her foot and soft, but he can see their thinness easily. Her packs are worn and fre

She is so different from when he first met her, the once incredibly carefree spirit now seems weighed down. They had both studied under Lord Elrond, learning his healing arts. Dhalnir was much younger than she, but perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that she was much older than he and the rest of the students. She, who nears three thousand years of life, is his longest friend. She catches his stares, green eyes glinting in the moonlight, and asks if all is well. He averts his eyes quickly, blushing slightly in the dark and replies with a quick nod. She turns back to the road, watching the trees sway in the dark with a small smirk gracing her lips and leaves Dhalnir to question where the queasiness in his stomach appeared from. The last he saw her was over three hundred years ago, this feeling did not exist then so why does it now?

It is a few hours later when Húral reaches the gate of Imladris, stopping only to dismount and lead his horse to the stables. After his steed is cared for he vanishes into the city, likely looking for the rest of his fellows. Dhalnir dismounts and hands his reins to the stable hand. He moves to help Taelien from her mare, for she was the last to come through the gate and certainly the weariest of the three, but he stops cold with her glare.

"_I am old, yet not so old that I need assistance, Dhalnir._"

He fidgets with his armour embarrassed as she dismounts from the borrowed mare. She suddenly laughs and smiles teasingly at him, and he feels that strange feeling pool in his gut once more.

"You need to laugh more, my friend." she tells him in Westron and he chuckles nervously, hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. She hands the reins over to the stable hand and they walk together in a short, amiable silence towards the main entrance. Elrond walks down the elaborately carved stairwell, arms open and palms upward in greeting.

Taelien bows her head, crossing her left arm across her chest.

"_Mae g'ovannen, Hir Elrond. Ci maer?_"

The moonlight glints off of his silvery-blue robes, making him appear ghost-like. Next to Taelien, Dhalnir greets in him a similar manner, his right arm across his chest. Elrond smiles at the pair, his prior students. He sees Dhalnir often in the city; the scout is more mature now than when he was a student. When studying, he was always causing mischief yet never breaking the 'rules' per se. But even though Dhalnir and Taelien were inseparable, Taelien was a different level of mischief. Whilst under his instruction she often roamed Imladris like Dhalnir, but the area surrounding the city was her favourite haunt.

She would often encourage her fellow student to join her in leaving the city's boundaries or wrecking havoc in the Market. She would try and act her age, he knew, but with so many younger elves she acted less than acceptable for an elleth of nine hundred thirty four years. She was always playing with swords with the younger, more adventurous students; something neither she nor the other students were particularily proficient at. The only thing she was worse at than sword play at the time was, unusually, archery. He always thought that odd seeing as she is descended from the Silvan Elves of Lothlórien, but he ignored it due to her proficient skill at healing.

When she had told him she was becoming a bounty hunter he was shocked to say the least. Once he relieved himself of his surprise that she wished for a...profession so dishonourable and violent, he realised he should not have been so surprised at her decision. Though the manners of her wanderings were less than savoury, she was still helping people in a way she felt comfortable with. Yet her last visit to Imladris was many, many years prior; why was she here now? He knew for certain it was not for a bounty, but his mind kept jumping to that possibility. Why else would she return to these lands where most look on her with shame?

The elleth steps forward and quickly gives her old teacher a hug, which he returns. "_Ni maer, Taelien. Am man theled ci si?_"

Taelien smiles sadly, "That is a long story for fewer ears." her eyes flash quickly over to Dhalnir, who's hands are clasped behind his back as he shifts from foot to foot. Dhalnir spots Húral with the rest of their scouts and he bids farewell to Taelien and Elrond before they make their way to the guest quarter stairs. Elrond and Taelien nod and walk into a room, closing the door behind them.

She turns to Elrond, fear and worry evident in her eyes as she sits on the bed. Elrond sits across from her in a reading chair. Her news and feelings bursts from her lips quickly, her recent feelings of despair, stumbling into Aragorn, waiting for the hobbits at the Prancing Pony, the finding of the One Ring, and the return of the Nine.

"That is why I am here. To ask you to summon a council and to tell you that Aragorn, the hobbits, and the One Ring are on their way to Rivendell. I have been travelling for ten days, mostly using the Road; so they should be no more than a week behind me, unless some horror has befallen them. For Aragorn told me he is not using the Road to get here."

Elrond's face is dark and his eyes hard. He of course knows of the return of Sauron and the Nine. He had received messages from other elves from across the Ford of Bruinen. He stands and crosses the room to sit next to her on the bed. He strokes Taelien's hair fondly, fatherly and explains to her that he has already sent out messages. She visibly exhales a breath and relaxes. Elrond almost chuckles at the the sight. She wraps her arms around him in a relieved hug, muttering her thanks. She pulls away, noticing that the moon is near the western horizon and that the night is beginning to fade. Her mood visibly brightens and her eyes grow lighter, thoughts turning to her friend, his daughter.

_"Mas i Arwen?_"

He chuckles and walks her to his nearby private gardens. Taelien smiles and thanks him, turning towards the garden path, following the moonflowers and blooming lilies. Elrond watches her leave. A heavy weight now rests on his shoulders but he is glad to have relieved that weight from one of his former students. He moves to his study where he begins to send for his best riders to start searching. Glorfindel is the first to enter Elrond's chambers and he is the first to leave. He moves towards the stables quickly, a new sense of urgency coursing through him. The bells that adorn his horse's saddle jingle quickly and pleasantly as he races for the western Road and begin his search.

* * *

Taelien slowly enters the inner garden and hears a soft, light song float amongst the flowers. She spies Arwen sitting near the pond's edge, braiding a crown of flowers and singing. Silently she begins to pick flowers to create her own crown, and as soon as she recognises the song's lyrics she begins to sing along. Arwen jumps in surprise and stops her singing, dropping her halfway completed crown. Taelien smiles, finishes the song for them both, and wraps her old friend in a hug. Arwen picks up her crown and sits back down with Taelien on the edge of the pond. She gives a bright smile, grey eyes crinkling with joy.

"_Taelien?! Am man theled ci si, mellon nîn?_"

Taelien smiles sadly and begins to tell the other elleth of her recent hardships. She notices Arwen's eyes spark to life at the mention of Aragorn, and Taelien becomes curious but does not ask. They walk through the garden together. The rising sun causes the night flowers to sleep. The two friends discuss what the other has done since last they visited. Taelien runs her hand through her messy hair, slim fingers catching and tugging out her tangles and curls. Arwen strokes the closing moonflowers that twist themselves upon the white lattice.

Grey eyes flit to green as Taelien toys with the flower crown she made when she told Arwen of her adventures. They pause, both toying with the soft petals on their respective crowns, and share the same thought. They exchange their crowns, remembering the multiple times they have performed this act. The crown of Taelien's make consists of irises and moonflowers; she places the crown on Arwen's smooth, dark locks as she once did when they were younger. Arwen does the same with her crown of night lilies and evening primroses, placing it upon Taelien's still dirty and twisted curls. Taelien smiles, a small nostalgic sigh escapes her. She longs to see and smell the flowers of her home, the yellow and white _elanor_ and _niphredil_. The small, beautiful winter flowers that will blossom in just two months time. She brushes her fingers over the soft lily petals in order to shake away the sudden feeling of longing for her home. The home she has not thought often of in a very, very long time.

Arwen laughs at her memories of childhood in Lórien and Imladris. She would visit her mother's mother, Galadriel, and stay with her court. A court that Taelien's mother was a member of. Arwen would be encouraged to visit with the ladies of the court and their daughters, where she met the elleth, Taelien. Who, at the time, was just her elder by a few hundred years, and now is one of her closest friends. They continue their walk, leaving the garden to watch the sun rise over the mountains. They stand in peace for a few moments, watching as the light begins to grace the mountain tops and Arwen is suddenly struck with a thought. So she begins to walk down the stairs that lead to the Central Marketplace, her soft slippers ghosting across the cool stone. The bounty hunter is transfixed by the pink and purple sky and does not notice her friend's absence immediately. She instead looks over to the bridge and sees two familiar faces: Dhalnir and none other than Gandalf the Grey. She beams and waves at them, despite the fact that they do not see her. She turns to point out the pair to Arwen, only to discover that her friend is already gone. She lets out an annoyed puff of air and jogs to catch up the the maiden, her blades clinking against their metal fastenings.

The city, to an outsider's eye, wakens and becomes as busy as ants that are aggravated by a stick. It is in this busy environment that Taelien finds Arwen perusing the opening stalls and shops. Taelien walks quietly beside her, waiting for the younger elleth to notice. Arwen smirks and simply links her and Taelien's arms together, despite the filthy state of the bounty hunter's attire. The Market, that should be loud and bustling with various cacophonies, is still busy but it is not hard on one's ears. It does not posses the same urgency that human markets do. The sounds of a market are there, but they are muted and silent in comparison to markets that one would visit in Minas Tirith. As they walk other elves show their respect to the Lady Arwen, others look at Taelien with a small, courteous smile or a frown of distaste, and she shifts and fidgets uncomfortably.

The pair stops at a stall filled with velvets, silks and satins that they both agree would make fine dresses. Arwen picks up a silvery blue swatch of fabric and holds it up to Taelien's still dirty face, "_We could make a very beautiful gown from this for you, mellon nîn. It compliments your hair and skin very well._" She smiles and picks up a deep green velvet that shines brightly when the light hits it. She places the velvet in a continuously growing pile of various silvers, whites, blues, and greens. Taelien smiles, but becomes even more aware of her state of dress and she fidgets with the fraying hem of her tunic. The merchant smiles at the two and politely rejects Arwen's coin. "I_ cannot accept coin for this, Lady Arwen. Your visit and want for my cloth is payment enough. The thought of you or any of your friends wearing dresses made of my cloth fills me with a great joy._" Arwen gives a soft, kind smile and leaves a few smaller coins upon the table, the elvish flows from her lips gracefully.

"_I appreciate your thought, good merchant, but I shall not leave with your goods unpaid for in some useable manner._"

The merchant smiles and bows respectfully after handing the cloth to Arwen and Taelien, who both nod and walk further down the avenue. Taelien looks to Arwen smiling tightly and says suddenly, "_Mellon nîn_, I must relieve myself of these weary clothes and the mud on my skin. I do not feel at ease with these stares as I once did when walking with you."

Arwen stares at her, slightly in shock. Taelien is not the type of elleth that squirms and scurries away under any sort of attention; what is it that makes her so insecure now? Those long years travelling among the humans must have changed her friend more than anyone believes. Taelien gives a sad, uncomfortable smile and turns on her heel. The clinking of her packs and weapons is suddenly brought to Arwen's attention, and she herself flushes with embarrassment for her friend. Most elves look down on her Taelien for abandoning Imladris and Lórien in favour of bounty hunting. She was once a well respected healer. More recently however she is now the embarrassment to the elves. Arwen walks briskly after the elusive elleth, balancing the multiple fabrics over her arm simultaneously.

"At least allow me to walk you to your quarters, Taelien."

She stops suddenly and turns around, a look overwhelming with curiosity. "Arwen, I have no quarters here. I have always dwelt in the guest quarter, even when I was only a student here."

Arwen giggles, "You thought we gave those quarters to all students under my father's instruction? Taelien, you are one of his favourites and one of my closest friends. of course you have your own quarters here!"

* * *

Taelien walks from her chamber's bathing area, hair damp from her _very _relaxing bath. She smells of lavender and rosemary and feels lighter and happier than she has in a very long time. She finds a dress that one of Arwen's maidens placed on her bed, whilst she bathed. It is layered and has long bell sleeves as any other respectable elf would wear. It is a shade of light green that seems to capture the essence of sunlit leaves on a spring morning with accenting fabric that is a the grey-blue colour of stormy morning clouds. The fabric is silky and soft to the touch, neither too heavy or thin. She is used to the coarser fabric than Men make, and revels in the soft familiar kiss of the fabric on her skin. Her elven garments she owned before are still in Lórien or were sold for coin in order to survive. Sho she is ecstatic to wear the splendid cloth again.

She begins to dress herself, first by moving to strap a small dagger to her thigh but she pauses, shocked and slightly amused. She is safe here. She has no need for weapons. She quickly removes her tan hand from the weapon and sits on the bed, suddenly uncomfortable with her own skin. She knows that she has lived in the lands of Men for far too long now. It frightens her to think that even when she is surrounded by her own kin, she still feels compelled to arm herself. She pulls the dress over her head, her frown deepening the more she thinks of her previous actions. When she stands, the smooth silk falls like water down her legs, smoothing out and shimmering. She combs her hair with a brush and fingers, tugging at a few remaining knots. Slipping on her soft-soled shoes, she stares at herself in the mirror.

She can recognise herself, but just barely. Her face shows no signs of dirt for once and her muscles do not ache from riding anymore. As she stares at herself she is reminded of her mother. A guilty stab runs through her chest at the thought. She misses her mother very much, and wearing elven silks again remind her of her time with the Lady Galadriel. A wave of nostalgia rushes through her as the long buried memories rush to the surface. There is a knock on the door and she breaks free from her trance. She walks up and pulls on the metal latch, and sees Arwen smiling at her.

"_Gwestannenol nin menitham na i mahad!"_

Arwen grabs Taelien's sleeve and bounds away towards the marketplace again. Happy to just be in the presence of her friend. Taelien laughs and shakes her head, she did make a promise to go to the market, and if there is one thing she is good at it is keeping her promises.


End file.
